Without a Trace
by Laura Andrews
Summary: What would have happened in our world if the Pevensies never came back from their first trip to Narnia? AU Oneshot


For Kate

WITHOUT A TRACE

"Professor!" Mrs. Macready's voice came through the oaken door as she rapped against it.  
"Come in," he sighed, pushing his papers back and pulling out his pipe.  
The stern housekeeper entered and stood in front of his desk, rather like a prisoner before a judge. No, he took that back. Her expression was that of a judge; he supposed he was the guilty one.  
"What is it, madam?"  
"Those children, professor! All four of them!" she burst out. "My own were never so unruly. I suppose you did warn them that I was taking a tour over the house today?"  
"Oh, yes, indeed. Did they disturb you?"  
"For the first fifteen minutes they were sneaking about, laughing and running just ahead of us. I suppose they thought it great fun to run about and disrupt what I was saying. At last I decided to find them and give them a piece of my mind; I left the touring party for a moment and found that they had gone into the spare room, the one with your old wardrobe in it."  
"Yes, yes, go on." Digory wondered if she had somehow got into Narnia, and smiled privately to himself.  
"In that room, the wardrobe door was hanging open, and several of your good fur coats were missing, besides four pairs of galoshes. Mothballs were scattered all over the floor of the room."  
"And the children?" the professor asked in an amused voice.  
Gertrude Macready looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps you will not find it at all humorous to learn that I could find no sign of them. After the touring party left I searched high and low for them. I even had Ivy, Margaret, and Betty leave their tasks and search for them."  
"And how long did you look?"  
"An hour at least. I do hope, professor, that you have not been hiding them?"  
"What a preposterous... you couldn't find them? Anywhere?"  
"Not a trace of them. It's as though they... vanished."  
Those very same words... Digory remembered those very same words being used by a policeman forty years ago or more.  
"That cabby. The one that owned the 'ansom that crazy woman was ridin'. And his wife, too, and she was several miles away. There's not a trace of 'em. It's as though they just vanished."  
He got up quickly.  
"I'll help you," he said.  
His cane was in his hand as he spoke. Mrs. Macready looked very startled.  
"Oh, no, professor," she said. "I just thought..." her voice trailed off. "You know what the doctor said about climbing stairs."  
"Never mind," he said. "This could be serious."  
With his legs protesting every step, he bounded up the stairs, to the fourth floor, to the spare room, and looked in. Mrs. Macready had not been able to resist her instincts; she had put all the mothballs back in the wardrobe and closed the door. He opened it and touched the inside of the door.  
"Aslan," he whispered. "Please, no. Bring them back. Please."  
He pushed his way in, through the coats; saw the four empty hangers. The four empty spaces where boots should have been.  
"Professor?" Mrs. Macready came in, panting. "We've scoured the grounds. The stableman and the groundskeeper have seen nothing. Sir?"  
There was a thud, and for Digory Kirke the world went black.

Lucille Pevensie pushed the door of her home open with her foot, her arms full of rations, and staggered to the table. She dropped the paper bags with a thump and went back to close the door; a slip of paper just inside caught her eye. A telegram? She had not had one for months, not since Peter telegrammed to say they had reached the professor's house safely. She picked it up and read 'Children missing. No trace. Please come at once. D. Kirke.'  
The letter fell from nerveless hands. Missing? How could that be? Frank had assured her that the children could not be safer than with the professor. They had gone to school together.. been good friends... Mr. Kirke had attended their wedding. How could they be missing? If only Frank were here; he would know what to do. She looked around wildly. The train schedule was on the wall; the train she needed did not leave for three hours.  
"Frank, Frank," she whispered. "Why are you off in France when I need you here?"

She walked to the station instead of driving. She did not want to be in the house any longer than she had to be, and walking made it where she had to leave earlier.  
On the train she sat beside a woman in her forties.  
"Troubles, miss?" the woman asked.  
"Yes," Lucille murmured.  
"You can always tell by the eyes," the woman went on. "I lost my son. Shell hit him; he died right away." She put her hand out. "I'm Jane Irwin."  
Lucille took the offered hand. "Lucille Pevensie."  
"What's your troubles?" asked Jane.  
"I... my four children. I sent them off to the country, to be safe... and now they're missing." Lucille felt that horrid itching in her nose that meant she was about to cry. She dug around frantically in her handbag for a handkerchief.  
"Here, take mine," Jane said. "Don't worry. It's clean."  
"Th-thanks," sniffed Lucille, blowing her nose hard and then burying her face in the hankie.  
They rode in silence for such a long time that Lucille thought her companion had fallen asleep. She was startled when Jane said, "What are their names?"  
"Peter, Susan, Edmund and... and Lucy." Lucille gave a watery smile. "Lucy was named after me. She's such a sweet girl."  
"My boy was Charles. We called him Charlie. He was only nineteen."  
"Oh," said Lucille, awkwardly. And then, "I'm sorry."  
They said nothing until Lucille's stop came.  
"I hope you find them," said Jane.  
"Thank you. I hope..." and then, because she was the sort of person who finds hugs easier to use than words at such times, Lucille embraced her companion. "Goodbye."  
And so they parted.  
She found a car, driven by a gnarled but not otherwise old-looking man, waiting for her.  
"Mrs. Pevensie?" he asked.  
"Y-yes."  
"Groundskeeper for Mr. Kirke. Please get in."  
He said nothing for at least five minutes, until Lucille burst out impatiently.  
"Can't you tell me anything?"  
"I'm sorry. I promised Mr. Kirke I would let him explain everything himself."  
By the time they reached the huge old house, Lucille was alternately biting her nails (something she had not done since she was eleven) and digging them into the palms of her hands.  
She got out of the car before it had fully stopped and was at the door before the driver had even shut off the engine. The door was immediately opened by a stern-faced woman.  
"Mr. Kirke will see you in his study."

Lucille was led through a long hall, up a few shallow steps, and down another hall and then the woman was tapping on a door and a voice was saying, "Come in."  
She blinked as she found herself in a room lit with five or more lamps; an elderly man was sitting behind a desk, trying to light his pipe with shaking hands.  
"Ah. Mrs. Pevensie."  
She thought that the lines in his face were lines of worry and not age. His hands were shaking, not from rheumatism but anxiety.  
"Please, Mrs. Macready, let us alone for a few moments."  
"Professor," said Lucille, leaning forward and clutching the edge of the desk. "Please, tell me what happened. Everything."  
He gave up lighting his pipe and jammed it into his mouth. Then he took it out, spilled some tobacco on his desk, and gave a long sigh.  
"I... I hardly know what to say," he said at last. "If I told you what I know, then you would think me mad. If I don't, then there will be very little to tell. Let me relate what my housekeeper told me. She was leading a touring party around... around the house. And she could hear the children laughing and sneaking about; she thought they were trying to cause trouble or tag along. So when she went to reprimand them, she found a... this wardrobe... a wardrobe had been opened. Four fur coats were missing, as well as four pairs of rubber boots. And... and she and the three maids looked all over the house, and when they could not find the children they... that is Mrs. Macready... she came and told me."  
Four fur coats? This was insane. It was the middle of summer. Why should her children take coats?  
"Are you saying my children stole your coats and boots?" burst out Lucille. "That doesn't even make sense! What does that have to do with their disappearance?"  
The professor again tried to light his pipe, and finally succeeded, but instead of putting it in his mouth he just held it.  
"I... I will tell you what I know," he said. "But you must promise not to interrupt. After that, you may take me to the authorities, or whatever you like."  
This man was mad! Lucille wanted to shake him, to tell him that her children were missing and he was acting as though they would never be found and he knew why. But all she did was nod her head. "I promise."  
"I know where your children are," he said. "No! Please," holding up his hand. "Let me continue. Many years ago, when I was only eleven or so, I... oh, bother." He cleared his throat and said nothing for several minutes. "My uncle was a magician... or so he called himself. He made several rings that took a friend of mine, and me, to another world. The rings also took several other people, including a cabby and his wife. Mrs. Pevensie, please, I must beg you not to interrupt. When I came back from this other world with my friend, we found that not more than ten seconds had passed between the time we left and the time we came back. I'm not finished! The cabby and his wife never came back; they stayed in that world. It was an unsolved mystery to the police; neither of them was ever found again, not a trace."  
"What does this have to do with my children?" gasped Lucille.  
"Please, Mrs. Pevensie, just hear me out. Your youngest daughter, Lucy, went through that wardrobe into another world. She came back, and it had taken only a moment. Her brothers and sister did not believe her, as you do not believe me. They came to me and told me everything, and I assured them their sister was not mad. In that world, it was winter. They took the coats and boots to warm themselves. And..." here he trailed off.  
Lucille choked down a sob. "Please, Mr. Kirke, please, remember you're my husband's close friend. Tell me where they are. Where they really are. If they are dead, please take me to their bodies. Don't tell me mad stories of other worlds and magic rings. Please!" She burst into tears.  
The professor got up, slowly and stiffly, and hobbled over to her.  
"Everything I've told you is the absolute truth," he said. "I swear it. I don't expect you to believe me, though." He put his arm around her shoulder, but she shook him off and he sat back down with a sigh.

Frank and Lucille Pevensie sit quietly in the courtroom, holding each other's hands. Mr. Kirke gives his mad testimony for the fifth time, his voice only just loud enough to be heard. Mrs. Macready takes the witness stand, telling what she knows and defending her employer. Hours pass. The jury deliberates and then gives the verdict.  
"We find Digory Kirke guilty of gross neglect of duty and therefore responsible for the unknown fate of the four Pevensie children."  
The judge bangs his gavel and passes sentence. Ten years in prison. Digory Kirke looks out at the grieving relatives with compassion. Perhaps it is his fault. He should have forbidden them to go near the wardrobe. He should have had the wardrobe destroyed when Peter and Susan first came to him with their worries. But he had thought that they, like he and Polly so many years before, would come back. He had never dreamed that, like Frank and Helen Baxter, they would be lost to this world without a trace.  
As he leaves the courtroom, he passes Lucille Pevensie.  
"I'm sorry," he whispers.

THE END

AN - I got the idea for this from my story Fears, where Edmund says, "Peter's right, and Lucy's right. And I think that it would have been a great blow to Mother and Father if we had grown up there, in Narnia. Grown old and died, and they would never have known what happened. And perhaps the Professor would have been blamed and thrown in prison."


End file.
